


dead serious

by doublejoint



Series: peachtober 2020 [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: KNBxNBA, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26821576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint
Summary: Kise slams the ball through the hoop as if Aomine’s not even there.
Relationships: Aomine Daiki/Kise Ryouta
Series: peachtober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953295
Comments: 11
Kudos: 61





	dead serious

**Author's Note:**

> #peachtober day 3: Bridge

The first time it happens is on the court, when Kise dunks on Aomine. It’s not the first time, not the first time in a real game or even in the NBA, but the way he does it, transitioning so seamlessly and without warning from the drive, and Aomine’s half-expecting him to pass the ball away the whole time and trying to guard him from both that and the dunk and that’s what does him in. It’s been a long time since he’s had to consciously guess and commit beforehand, since someone’s been this far ahead of him even on one play, since he’s had this kind of fire lit inside him, since he’s had an image seared into the back of his eyelids like Kise slamming the ball through the hoop as if Aomine’s not even there. 

He goes on a tear after that, thirteen points in five minutes, before halftime; Kise scores a couple of layups but those barely register because Aomine’s still thinking about that dunk, the smile on Kise’s face afterward, Kise wiping the sweat from his face, and then a very inconvenient realization worms its way into the front of Aomine’s mind.

Aomine’s good at avoiding his own thoughts, though. He stuffs that thought down into his head and listens to the coaches’ halftime talk, thinks about the game plan and the plays they’re going to run, talks to his teammates about how they’re going to guard Kise and protect their lead. That jostles the lid on top of Aomine’s thoughts, but he sits down firm and won’t let it budge, not while they have half a game to play. 

It doesn’t get any easier when Kise wins the tipoff and shoots a pass that Aomine barely sees, when he gets the ball back and sinks a perfect three and Aomine knows he’s going to get yelled at for that--and he should be. He should just fucking guard Kise. He muscles past Kise on the way to the basket and makes his next shot, guards Kise well enough on the next possession that his teammates don’t pass to him, hits the ground running until the whistle blows and they call a foul on one of Kise’s teammates and he’s pulled from the game.

It’s not punishment; it’s saving him for later, to ice the game or pull away or catch up if they need it, but Aomine always hates not being able to play every minute of every game, especially when he’s playing against Kise.

* * *

He comes back in later in the quarter; the Cavs pull away and win; Kise doesn’t dunk on Aomine again, though he does beat him to a loose ball and steal from him, transitioning right into a pass before Aomine can move toward him at all. Getting bested by Kise, even if he wins the game, even if Aomine had won more of their small battles, doesn’t feel good, really, but he can’t help but admire Kise’s skill, the well of potential he’s pulling and pulling from, like instead of the aquifer Aomine’s got underneath him Kise has an ocean the size of five continents. 

Basketball players are supposed to peak early, but neither of them has hit their ceiling yet. Still, Kise’s might be higher than his, and--if Aommine can beat Kise when Kise’s ahead of him, some way? That’ll be better than every victory he’s pulled from Kise’s hands or from beyond them, every victory where he knew more or was looking back in the distance from his long head start. 

They’re driving back to Kise’s place when the jack-in-the-box pops out from Aomine’s mind, sharp but completely unnoticed by Kise. He brakes at the stoplight, across the street from a McDonald’s, and pushes the sleeves of his suit jacket up on his arms. Aomine wants to watch the light from the dashboard shine off his metal watchband, his neck against the dark leather seat, his hair falling across his face, for the next hundred years, fill his dry throat as if he hasn’t had anything to drink in that long at least. Fuck, he wants Kise; fuck, he is so captivated by Kise tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, looking back at him, leaning over to check his blind spot.

“You’re spacing out,” says Kise. “Did I tire you out that much?”

“Just jet lag,” says Aomine. 

“Want to call it an early night?”

Aomine fakes a yawn, and he’s only half-sure Kise buys it. “Nah. I’ll kick your ass at Mario Kart.”

* * *

The problem is, Aomine knew how much Kise had liked him, way back in the day. He knew, and he didn’t do anything about it, sat on the feelings that Kise was pushing at him, pleaded plausible deniability because Kise hadn’t said the words, until it had all slipped away. He hadn’t missed it when Kise had stopped, shifted his attentions, when they’d gone pro and Kise had been climbing up faster, catching up with him. They had been friends; they are friends.

And if Aomine’s obvious about how he feels now, then will Kise pity him? Will it be too weird, the knowledge of Kise’s old crush in the center of both of their minds? Will they both turn bitter about the chance they’d missed, liking each other at the wrong time? Could Aomine ever be the version of himself whom Kise had fallen for? He’s much better now than he’d been back then, but attraction doesn’t really factor that in, does it?

There is a large poster of the Golden Gate bridge in the lobby of Kise’s building. It’s tacky, but it’s probably what people buying a luxury condo right in the city of San Francisco want to be reminded of, that they live in a place with astronomical housing prices and hefty property taxes, that this city is what they’re paying for.

That’s how Kise had explained it, anyway. But maybe, if Aomine’s feelings are one side of the strait and Kise’s the other, they can bridge it some way or other. Aomine’s hand hovers over Kise’s name in his phone contacts, but he’s not the kind of guy to ask out someone over the phone if he has the chance to see them in person soon.

He’s not someone who hesitates, usually, but his instincts are serving him worse than usual when it comes to Kise.

* * *

The sky is full of sleet when the Warriors come to Cleveland, not exactly romantic weather. But if Aomine needs a rainbow in the sky and roses on the side of the road and a coat they can share in order to win Kise over, then it’s a cheap and flimsy victory. (Not that, if Kise’s heart weren’t in it, he’d say yes out of pity or of loyalty to long-lost feelings.)

“I like you,” Aomine says, looking at the blank, flat screen of the TV as Kise sits down next to him on the couch.

“You’re serious,” says Kise.

Aomine looks at him. “Yeah. I like you. A lot.”

Kise reaches for his hand, palm over palm, finger over finger.

“I do have to leave tomorrow, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“We don’t play each other again this season.”

“I know. But you could always ask for a trade?”

Kise laughs at this, lightly. “You really are serious, huh?”

“Dead serious.”

“Well,” Kise says, drawing a breath. “I like you too.”

This would have been easier eight years ago, ten years ago, at least logistically. But it’s here and now that it exists, here and now that their touches and kisses exist in the physical realm--and Aomine’s not one to back away from the challenge.


End file.
